


what remains entirely ourselves

by Squidink



Series: Messiahs and other disasters [2]
Category: Cable and Deadpool, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: AU, Brother Nathan, Enema of the State AU, Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-20
Updated: 2009-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squidink/pseuds/Squidink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade is having a bad day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what remains entirely ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> The Brother Nathan AU is the creepiest AU.

Sometimes Wade doesn’t mind it. 

 

Well, maybe it’s a lie, and maybe it isn’t; it can’t matter much either way, when it’s just better to play along nice than not play at all, and it wasn’t as if he has a say in any case.  Because the world is more or less perfect.  On a sliding scale.

 

Wade still isn’t entirely certain on the criteria of said scale.  It’s very iffy.  Up in the air, if you will, but Nate seems to get it – if his eggplant face is anything to go by – but that could very well be because everything was run by his rules.  His scale.  His global scale.  It’s funny, in that fridge logic sort of way, that the best manner to go about saving the world is by conquering it with good intentions.  Or at least, intentions that started out good, and maybe still are, if you stare at them sideways long enough and fudge the details.  On _bad_ days, not even Wade really notices, and it sort of starts to look like it might be some kind of perfect.  There hasn’t been so many bad days recently, however, and that has left him time to think, which was never a good thing no matter who was playing benevolent dictator.  And his thinking, more and more, works itself backwards (when it works at all).

 

There were, naturally, those disinclined to live in paradise, just a few scattered souls, the ones that had it good or something near enough to count.  Wade thinks he has memories (on bad days), but they’re clouded by something more exact than just time or an unfocused mind, something intent as a gardener’s hand in the weeds.  Wade can remember them from time to time, if he thinks hard about it and nothing flashes in front of his eyes and if Nate’s not smiling at him.  He remembers how they all went _away_ , in every sense of the word.  In and out and poof-gone, the best kind of magic trick, and Cable smiled that little smile, just a twitch of the lips, like he had everything and nothing to do with it.

 

It’s amazing what people can get away with when you’re not looking.  Nobody looks anymore, and maybe that’s what’s setting him off today.  Nobody _looks_.

 

Wade’s getting muddled again, losing the thread of lucidity, forgetting the wheres and whens and hows, and rubs his forehead to somehow call them back.  He’s going to get the headaches if he keeps this up, but this is a bad day, and he wants to hold on to it by all its sharp edges.

 

He lets go with one hand, swinging down under the rafter that has become his perch, hooking his knees over it to hang upside down.  The sun seems brighter from this angle, and he closes his eyes, watching his veins and scars make patterns inside his eyelids.  That’s one thing Nate won’t fix.  Can’t?  There’s the soft hum of the crystals, the good little henchmen, gliding past the balcony, but they more or less leave him alone these days.  The words ‘special project’ drift through his mind, but they’re all wrong, only catching the corners of what it all boils down to.  He reaches for it anyways.

 

The door opens, and it’s like everything slides out of focus.

 

“I had the most interesting occurrence today.”

 

Wade nods without looking, and asks, “Wussat?” because it’s what he’s expected to do, even when he doesn’t really feel like it and it’s not going to be anything interesting anyways, because nothing interesting ever happens anymore.   Wade rocks his knees – the metal bar is becoming uncomfortable, and, if he were anything else but what he is, there’d probably be bruises and cramps and what used to be ordinary things – and carefully unhooks himself, dangling awkwardly by one hand.  He takes a moment to breathe, enjoying the muscle strain before it’s taken away, and drops to the floor, rolling as he hits. “Record number of rainbows?  Flowers got nine-point-oh-two extra seconds of sunlight today?  Someone managed to get a hangnail?  The humanity!”  He loses his momentum and ends up sitting, legs neatly crossed, facing the open air of the window.  Wade doesn’t turn around, and it’s petty, and things are getting staticy, but he knows he’ll lose it if he looks at Nate.  That’s how it works in paradise, nowadays.  Just good and _bad_ and worse.

 

“You sound bitter, Wade,” Nate says with what could very well be uncertainty, but it’s in his Cable voice, and Cable hasn’t been wrong in so long it’s just like always being right. “No, I met with _you_.  What could have been you.”

 

Nate’s being cryptic, and if he’s being cryptic it means he already has a script for this revelation planned out.  It grates on Wade’s nerves, because Wade knows Nate doesn’t mean for it to be, and that just makes it worse.  Nate always has the best of intentions, and that’s his problem in a nutshell. 

 

Wade’s head is throbbing.  He’s feeling groggy. He doesn’t turn. “Yeah?  And how did that go?”  He thinks of the stink of gunpowder, and smiles before it’s gone again.

 

Nate’s boots squeak as he lands, and Wade knows he probably lost the argument before Cable even opened his mouth.  That’s just how it goes. “I left out the seedlings.  You didn’t water them?”

 

It’s a question, even if it’s not, and the disappointment is palpable.

 

“I put them there for you.”

 

Wade awkwardly clambers to his feet, feeling exposed in a way he hasn’t since too long ago, and glances over his shoulder. Nate smiles – it should be a smirk, but that’s what the kids are calling it these days – and points to the table.  The little plants look sad and wilted, and Wade thinks, _good_ , and doesn’t know why.

 

With what he hopes is a resentful look, Wade ducks past Cable’s bulk – less muscle and more softness and twice as dangerous as before – and scoops up the watering can.  Carefully, he tips a little into each pot, feeling frustrated—misplaced— _something_ , and he kind of wants to throw the can and smash the pots and just cause a ruckus, because, _because_ …

 

He can't think straight.  His head hurts so bad.

 

Nate touches his chin, concerned or something equally terrible, and Wade leans into it.  Maybe he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, or maybe Wade’s just taking this all the wrong way, because who the hell says no to heaven?

 

And he remembers when he saved the world from one messiah, and wonders why he failed to do it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism encouraged.


End file.
